A Dish Best Served Cold
by Kitian
Summary: A broken man, Seifer will wreak the ultimate retribution on the one who brought him to destruction. But is vengeance a double-edged sword? Twisted lies, distorted realities, burning hatred, revenge revenge revenge.....
1. Prologue

You're such a piece of shit, Almasy.  
  
  
  
The sorceress' lapdog.  
  
  
  
A traitor.  
  
  
  
You're filth, a waste of perfectly good oxygen.  
  
  
  
Pathetic.  
  
  
  
Why bother living.......  
  
  
  
Why bother living?  
  
  
  
  
  
Why bother.....  
  
  
  
  
  
Words ran like poison through Seifer's head, every hurtful syllable seared into his memory like a white hot knife cutting into soft pale underbelly, over and over and over and over again.  
  
  
  
  
  
Piece of shit. That's what I am. They're right when they say it. What the hell good did I ever do anyone? Maybe I should just end it all. It'd be so easy.....  
  
  
  
  
  
He rocked back and forth in the fetid darkness, surrounded by the acrid, pungent stench of alcohol. His ears heard only the scuttling of unseen vermin in shadowy corners, his fingers felt only the dirt and grime of a rock hard mattress. Cold and hard. Like everything else he knew.  
  
  
  
  
  
So easy.....   
  
  
  
  
  
No more people spitting at me in the streets. No more hateful words being flung at my face. No more merciless blows in the back of dark, filthy alleys. No more watching the scars bleed bleed bleed as they burn my skin.  
  
  
  
  
  
He bit his bottom lip to stifle a whimper, sharp white teeth sinking into dry, cracked skin.  
  
  
  
  
  
It hurts. It stings. It burns. I'm bleeding again. Please stop hurting.....   
  
  
  
  
  
He bit down harder.  
  
  
  
  
  
I've done so many things, so many bad things. I deserve to die. I deserve to bleed. I deserve to beaten, again and again and again. I'm exactly what they say I am. Dirt. Filth. Garbage. I don't want to be here anymore.  
  
  
  
  
  
Outside, an old streetlight flickered. A chilly autumn wind scattered dried leaves across the bare pavement. The scratching of dead leaves on cement made sounds like that of a helpless animal, clawing on a cage with the gusting wind whispering cold promises of release.  
  
  
  
  
  
I don't want to know what I've done.   
  
  
  
I don't want to see their screaming faces, pointed fingers, hateful eyes.   
  
  
  
I don't want to see them yelling out names and raining down blows because they see me for what I really am.   
  
  
  
I don't want to dream of blood on my hands.   
  
  
  
I don't want to see blank, cold faces everytime I close my eyes.   
  
  
  
I don't want to see the charred bodies, the strewn limbs, the splattered entrails.   
  
  
  
  
  
I don't want to wake up screaming anymore.  
  
  
  
  
  
A rat scampered out from its murky hiding place to scratch at a stray wrapper, sniffing the crinkly aluminum foil for any crumbled remains.  
  
  
  
  
  
I don't want this.....anymore..........  
  
  
  
  
  
A rusty faucet drip drip dripped into the dingy sink it hung over, grime and mold starting to collect in the drain.  
  
  
  
  
  
.............no more...........  
  
  
  
  
  
Outside, the streetlight flickered and died. 


	2. Chapter One

A Dish Best Served Cold  
  
by Kitian  
  
Disclaimer: Characters? Not mine. Nope.  
  
WARNING: Okay, so this won't be much of a warning, considering that there's little in here to be wary of other than some foul language. For now, that is. However, I do plan on making this a horror fic, so just be forewarned that later on down the line it gets much more graphic and pretty twisted, if all goes as planned. And not twisted as in Squall and Raiijin fall madly in love and elope (sorry to anyone who managed to picture that just now....::shudder::) but more....well you'll see. Don't say I didn't warn you though....  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Seifer groaned. Pale shafts of dawn had found their way into his room, falling onto specks of dust on their way down to land upon his disheveled figure. Empty beer bottles littered the tiny apartment, covering every spare inch of the floor that wasn't occupied by the grubby mattress Seifer lay on.  
  
".....ugh......"  
  
He hated when he drank. He fell into this horrible stupor, where all he could think about was how sorry he felt for himself and how much he wanted to die. But dying was for cowards, of course, and even though he himself admitted to being a murderous traitor, he would never stoop so low as to commit suicide.   
  
At least, not on the nights when he didn't drown himself in alcohol and get lost in a dismal void of depression. Such nights were becoming more and more frequent for him, almost a weekly ritual.   
  
After all, alcohol was always there, even when everyone else abandoned you.  
  
"...What time is it?" he grumbled, slowly stumbling off the bare mattress and rubbing his throbbing temples. God my head hurts....it feels like someone tried to smash it open with a sledgehammer. Hangovers were a constant companion to the nightly drinking, and not a very welcome one at that, but they always came anyway.  
  
Angrily he thrust down the blinds on the window, the pale light seemingly blinding to him as it seared into the back of his aching head.  
  
"Where's my fucking watch......" Unsteadily he fumbled around the top of his bureau, searching the mess for his watch, his steel-toe boot knocking over a stray beer bottle with a loud 'clank' in the process. Feeling the worn leather band and the cold glass of the clock's face in his grasp, he pulled the watch out from underneath the clutter littering his dresser and brought it up to his face. Squinting, he tried to read the time in the bleary darkness of his room, and he could barely make out a small hand resting on the nine.  
  
"Shit! Shit, shit, shit, I am SO late......This is the fourth time this month.....I am so fucked......" Suddenly in a hurry, Seifer splashed cold water over his face in an attempt to clear away some of the hangover. The water came out polluted, cloudy and brownish from his rusted sink, but he paid no attention; it'd been coming out like that for weeks. Stupid landlord kept neglecting to come up here and fix the damned thing no matter how many times he complained about it. Maybe if he paid the rent on time occasionally, it would have helped. But that wasn't important; what was important was that he was late for the fourth time that month, and on the third time he was told to be late one more time would cost him his job.  
  
Combing his fingers through his hair, he hastily grabbed his faded blue jacket and his depressingly thin wallet and dashed out the door.  
  
  
  
************  
  
  
  
"Almasy, I have to say....I'm really quite disappointed in you. You insist on showing up two hours late or what, the third, fourth time in the past three weeks? That's simply unacceptable. Not to mention you look like hell."  
  
Seifer panted, his lungs begging for air, his heart pounding in his ears. He had just come from sprinting across town and down the wooden docks of the pier he worked at, loading cargo onto ships leaving Dollet's harbor. The other loaders at the dock gave him strange looks as he ran by and one of them, Steven he thought his name was, though he couldn't be sure, pointed him to the small dingy trailer that was his boss' office, telling him Mr. Anderson wanted to speak with him. Not good news.  
  
Smoothing his hair and regaining his breath, Seifer stood up straighter.  
  
"Yeah, well....had one of those nights. You know how it goes. Won't happen again."  
  
Mr. Anderson frowned, a doubting and rather disdainful look crossing his weather-beaten face. He had too much of a tan that made his skin red and mottled, and whenever he talked Seifer could see his yellow, rotting teeth and smell the overwhelming stench of cigarette smoke and it made him want to puke.  
  
"That's the fourth time I've heard you say that, Almasy. I don't really care what you do during your time off, but when it interferes with how you do your job.....well I'm sorry, but I'm just going to have to let you go."  
  
Seifer scowled. He'd seen this coming for a while now; he was actually surprised that he'd been kept around the job for this long. Still, it didn't take the sting off of being fired, especially by the blotchy, stinky bastard in front of him.  
  
"Yeah? Well, I was planning on quitting this piece of shit job anyway. Who wants to spend their life working at some stinking loading dock like this? Oh yeah," he added, turning his head as he started out the door, "from me to you.....go fuck yourself."  
  
Not waiting to see his reaction, Seifer slammed the door shut behind him, practically shaking the entire trailer with his force.  
  
Dammit! Seifer punched the chainlink fence that surrounded the entrance to pier. It rattled with the impact, sending several small birds that had been perched on it flapping away. How am I supposed to pay the rent now!?  
  
Rent had been hard enough to begin with, even when he still had the job at the loading docks. Sure it had been a crappy job, a definite step down from being the world-reknowned war hero he had originally planned on becoming, but shit, it was all he had left and now he'd messed that up too.  
  
"What the hell am I going to do now...."  
  
Ever since the incident with Ultimecia and him being tossed out of Garden, Seifer had had trouble finding work. Nobody wanted to hire an ex-SeeD charged with treason, not even one with the extraordinary fighting skills that Seifer possessed.   
  
At first, Fuujin and Raijin had helped him out, splitting the rent and sharing the apartment with him. He was always telling them that they didn't have to do it, that they could leave whenever they wanted to, he wouldn't blame them for not wanting to be associated with a traitor and living in a dumpy little apartment. They would just shake their heads silently, telling him that they were a posse and a posse stuck together no matter what and Seifer contented himself with their answer.   
  
He never really believed in it, though, and one day when he came home to find nothing but an empty apartment and a handwritten note, he wasn't at all surprised to see his posse, his lifelong friends, had picked up and left. He didn't blame them one bit; he didn't want them to suffer with him. They didn't have the tainted reputation that he did and being with him was only dragging them down.   
  
Still, he couldn't help but feel a little sad once they were gone....  
  
Shit! I'm homeless, I'm friendless, and now I'm jobless too! Things just couldn't get any worse.... Seifer aimlessly wandered the littered streets of Dollet, kicking empty cans and scraps of newspaper out of his way. There was no point in going back to the apartment; it was an absolute shithole, one that he couldn't even afford to keep anymore, and seeing it just made him more depressed.  
  
Seifer grumbled to himself, his head hung low as he roamed the poorly maintained cobblestone streets of the city, when something caught his eye. Passing by a bulletin board outside a small tavern, he saw a poster bearing the big, black, bold heading that screamed: LEARN TO FIGHT! MAKE A DIFFERENCE! BECOME A SEED! JOIN BALAMB GARDEN TODAY IN THE BATTLE TO MAKE THE WORLD A SAFER PLACE!  
  
The blaring letters that spelled out SeeD were what caught his eye, and he stopped. Turning to peer intensely at the poster, he found himself staring at a patriotic image of a soldier in full SeeD uniform triumphantly waving a flag with the emblem for Balamb Garden imprinted on it.  
  
Balamb Garden..... Such distant memories. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he used to go there, used to walk the polished halls of Garden with his sweeping grey trenchcoat billowing behind him, clipboard in hand as he patrolled the corridors with his two faithful companions flanking his sides. That had been a totally different existence, and it almost didn't feel like it had happened now that he stood haggard and alone in the streets of Dollet, staring at a tattered poster.  
  
I wonder..... He had nowhere to go now. He couldn't go back to the apartment, his reputation was ruined, his job was gone. Was it even conceivable to think that maybe.....just maybe......Garden would take him back? Edea had made it quite clear that she was willing to readmit him if he wished it, and Cid surely wouldn't object if she didn't. He had no other choices, really....  
  
No way. Going back would mean groveling to that son of a bitch Squall for forgiveness, and there's no way in hell I'm doing that.   
  
Still, the idea wouldn't leave him alone, remaining rooted in the back of his head, and he eventually found his feet leading him over to the harbor that ferried passengers across to Balamb. Mechanically he found himself reaching into his wallet, emptying its already meager contents into the hands of the boat's captain and climbing on board. Before he knew it, he was standing on the dock of Balamb City, nostrils filled with the pungent aroma of salty ocean air and dead fish as he watched the bustling crowds jostle and bump into each other in front of him.  
  
What am I doing here? I must be crazy. There's no way there'll take me back....They've already thrown me out once, they'll do it again. Edea and Cid may welcome me back, but I can think of plenty of faces I'd rather not see, and who would likewise jump at the opportunity to tear me limb to limb. Besides, I may be jobless, but I still have my pride...   
  
But his body was tired of never sleeping in a real, comfortable bed; never eating a full, hot meal; never taking a shower in unpolluted water, and sometimes, just showering at all. He was tired and he needed a place to call home, even if only for a little while. Seifer couldn't survive off of nothing, and winter wasn't going to be kind to him when it came and he had nowhere to stay.   
  
His stomach growled, twinging with the sharp stab of hunger; his muscles screamed, aching for the comfort of a soft bed and a good night's rest; his skin crawled, badly in need of a good, cleansing shower. He was just going to have to suck it up and give it his best shot.   
  
Thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, Seifer sauntered down the familiar path that would lead him back to the impressive steel gates of Balamb Garden. A cold wind picked up around him, sending up whirlwinds of torn newspaper and dead leaves at his feet. A deep frown etched its way across his face as he walked.  
  
I just hope that bastard Squall Leonhart isn't still running things over there.....  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's Notes: I have to admit, it's taking longer to set up this story than I expected. But please bear with me! It gets better, I swear. Won't be the ordinary "Seifer returns to Balamb" storyline, I can promise you that. Reviews, anyone? Oh yeah, and did anyone happen to catch that little tribute to The Matrix I threw in there? Mr. Anderson...heheheh. 


End file.
